Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders

by Miller, Mitchell R.

  “And if fish had wings …” he said.

  “Look, we have to try this. We don’t have another play,” Mollie said.

  Surfer hesitated, then nodded his agreement.

  Mollie turned toward the door, motioning Perez to follow. “We’ll stop on the way to buy appropriate modest clothing.”

  An hour later Mollie, Surfer and Amir sat crowded into the van with Vanessa and Jose. Mollie watched on a monitor as down the street came Perez, wearing appropriate clothing and walking slowly with her eyes downward as befitted a modest Muslim woman.

  A tiny camera hidden in the folds of the modest clothing provided the feed to the monitor so Mollie was able to watch as Perez entered the bookstore and slowly walked past the tables stacked with books.

  Perez approached the “clerk.” It was the cleric, transformed into a bookstore clerk! The haystack definitely seemed to be getting smaller.

  “Do you have ‘The Rubiyat of Omar Khayyam’?”

  Mollie couldn’t tell whether the cleric understood Perez’s English. But he obviously recognized the name Omar Khayyam because he pointed to a pile of books on a nearby table.

  Perez looked at several different editions of the poetry book by the famous Persian astronomer and mathematician of the 11th Century. She seemed unable to make a decision as to which edition to buy.

  The cleric approached her. He picked up one book and held it up. Then he placed it down in front of her. She picked up the book and nodded, apparently satisfied that this was a good choice.

  As the cleric walked back to his counter, he spoke to her in Arabic. Amir translated: “This book is a marvelous ‘gift’ that is to be shared with many others.”

  Perez nodded again and put her money down on the counter so as not to touch the cleric’s hand. He returned her change to the counter. She dipped her head in thanks as he placed the book in a bag and placed the bag on the counter.

  Perez picked up the bag and walked slowly toward the door.

  As she reached it, the door swung open from the other side. Two men entered, glanced at her, then headed toward the cleric.

  Inside the van Surfer said: “Who are those men?”

  “We’ll try to get a match,” Mollie said. “And if Perez was able to plant the bug …”

  A moment later, as Perez walked down the street away from the van, the words of men greeting each other in Arabic could be heard.

  Yes! Perez had done it.

  Mollie watched Amir as he scribbled down notes. He knew he didn’t have to get everything on the first go. He could listen to the tapes of the conversation to check his translation.

  As they waited, the men’s voices ended. Then the men emerged from the bookstore and entered the mosque next door.

  Mollie said, “Time to leave. We’re too conspicuous if we stay any longer. The other team will pick up Perez at the rendezvous point.”

  In the ride back to the Coast Guard’s San Pedro headquarters, Mollie asked Amir: “What did the men say?”

  “They only spoke a few words about the weather this afternoon. But let’s wait to see the book Perez picked up.”

  Back in their temporary workspace Mollie thanked Perez for a job well done.

  “It was tense inside that bookstore,” Perez said. “The cleric’s eyes seemed to go right through me.”

  Mollie nodded. “It probably had less to do with you as an individual than his evaluation of whether you were legitimate.” Mollie paused, then said, “And you obviously passed.”

  Amir walked over to the two women. “I checked a website that has translations of “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.” There was one passage that appeared to be indicated in the book Ensign Perez got.”

  “How indicated?” Mollie asked.

  “Light penciling under the verses.”

  “What’s the passage?” Perez asked.

  “This is the literal meaning: ‘O friend, for the morrow let us not worry/This moment we have now, let us not hurry/When our time comes, we shall not tarry/With seven thousand-year-olds, our burden carry.’”

  Gibberish Mollie thought. “What does it mean?”

  “The meaning is supposedly this: ‘O hark, let us not think of the morrow/Cherish this moment, far from sorrow/Life is a temporary gift that we borrow/Whether dead for ages, or leave tomorrow.’”

  “That doesn’t help much. Is there anything else?” Surfer asked.

  “Translation by the 19th century scholar Fitzgerald: ‘Ah! My Beloved fill the Cup that clears/Today of past Regrets and future Fears/Tomorrow? Why, Tomorrow I may be/Myself with Yesterday’s Seven Thousand Years.’”

  “Bloody hell!” Mollie said.

  “There’s also a German translation,” Amir said.

  “We can skip that for now,” Mollie said. “The one thing that seems the same in all three versions is that something is going to happen today.”

  “Which would tie in with the weather conversation at the mosque bookstore,” Perez said.

  Mollie picked up the book, flipped through the pages. What was it saying?

  At that moment Commander Jaiswal entered the room and Perez turned to look at the computer running TimeWall.

  Perez said to Mollie: “The cleric is speaking to someone in the store. TimeWall is translating that ‘a large ship headed for Los Angeles will deal a severe blow to our enemies.’”

  Mollie pointed at another computer. “Check for all ships approaching San Pedro today.”

  Perez’s fingers flew over the keys, bringing up the port’s expected arrivals. She pressed “print” and out came the schedule.

  Mollie snatched up the schedule. Then she pointed at two ships on the list: “Those two.”

  Jaiswal, Surfer and Amir moved closer to her. “The containership the Phicol could be loaded with anything -- biological or chemical weapons. Or that LNG tanker Pride of Aruba, which is a bomb all by itself.”

  “And your conclusion is based on what?” Jaiswal said.

  “Cargoes, points of departure, and … there’s something about the Phicol. I’ve heard that name before. Perez, check their courses.”

  Perez’s fingers again flew over the keyboard. “Shit!” Perez said. “The tanker Pride of Aruba is off course! Bearing 278.”

  Mollie and the others stared at Perez for a moment. Then Mollie rushed to the map of the Los Angeles basin that hung on the wall. She typed in the bearing on her BlackBerry, then looked at the map.

  “The San Onofre nuclear power plant on the coast south of LA.”

  Surfer said, “We could get the Marines at Camp Pendleton to approach overland while we approach from the sea.”

  Jaiswal held up both hands. “Let’s not panic the populace if this is a false alarm. I’m not as confident as you that a thousand-year-old poem can tell us the day of the attack.”

  Perez asked: “Wasn’t the message from Omar Khayyam’s book intended for the men from the boat smuggling explosives? They were supposed to have a part in this too.”

  “But they were suppose to hand off the Semtex to the guys we got at the oil field,” Mollie said.

  “The cleric must know by now that the Semtex isn’t in play,” Jaiswal said. “But perhaps that boat had another role.”

  Mollie nodded. “Maybe a diversion – a false alarm. Getting all the ambulances and emergency personnel concentrated in the wrong area.”

  Surfer added: “And the cleric can’t get word to the ship coming in today to stop its part of the attack. So even if he knew that the men bringing in the explosives didn’t get the message – that the woman who picked up the book wasn’t bringing the book to them – his main attack would still go forward.”

  Next to Mollie she heard Perez mutter to herself, “Separation of the parts of a plan. One part goes forward even if the other part doesn’t.”

  Then Jaiswal asked: “What about the containership the Phicol?”

  Mollie watched Perez check her screen again. “Course steady. But …”

  Perez clicked more keys
, got a different screen. “She should be doing 15 knots at that point, sir. But she’s at 25 knots and still accelerating!”

  Mollie turned to Jaiswal. “What do you want to do?”

  “Get the Marines moving,” Jaiswal said.

  Mollie was already half way to the door. “Perez can coordinate from here. Let’s move out.” Surfer and Jaiswal followed in her wake.

  But even as Mollie led down the hall at a fast trot the ship’s name Phicol kept dancing around in her head. Where had she seen that name before?

  CHAPTER VII – RACE AGAINST TIME

  April 20

  1143 hours

  Onboard the Coast Guard Cutter McIlheny dockside at San Pedro, Mollie stood in the bow with Surfer and Jaiswal as the ship prepared to cast off.

  Thurman approached them, holding out a sheet of paper to Jaiswal. “Commander Jaiswal,” Thurman said, “message from Ensign Martinez.”

  Jaiswal glanced at the paper, then handed the photo to Mollie.

  It was a photo of a containership with a handwritten note as to when it was expected to enter the harbor. Mollie unconsciously sucked in her breath.

  Surfer asked, “What is it?”

  “I knew I recognized the name of that ship, the Phicol. She was in the harbor in Yemen at the same time the USS Cole was bombed. I think the tanker is a decoy.”

  Jaiswal shook his head. “The Phicol is less likely to be used for an attack. We have to choose – we don’t have enough resources to stop both ships.”

  Mollie hesitated for only a fraction of a second. She believed in trusting her gut.

  “You guys handle the tanker. I’m going to track the Phicol. Get me a grenade launcher!”

  Jaiswal shot her a look. She snapped to attention.

  “Sir, I respectfully request to be assigned to conduct a reconnaissance of the Phicol. And to be issued a grenade launcher.”

  Jaiswal took a walkie-talkie from his pocked and spoke into it. “Master-at-Arms to the bow with an M4, now!”

  “Now look who’s being a cowboy,” Surfer said.

  Mollie ignored him.

  Moments later, holding the slung carbine/grenade launcher, Mollie leapt over the side of the cutter. She had on an unfastened bulletproof vest festooned with grenade rounds and 5.56 mm magazines.

  Once on shore, she jumped into a confiscated cigarette boat tied up in the impound slip alongside the Coast Guard cutter. She untied the cigarette and gunned the engine.

  Just as she put the boat into reverse, Surfer jumped into the boat with her. He also had with him a bulletproof vest and an M-16.

  “I’ll drive, you shoot,” Surfer yelled above the noise of the engine.

  She clamped her mouth shut on a possible retort and moved away from the wheel. As she did so she properly fastened her gear.

  Surfer hit the waves at full force, the water spraying back over him and Mollie. Hell, he was sure gunning for the bad guys!

  **

  Camp Pendleton

  1157 hours

  Marines dashed towards a staging area, pulling on their full battle gear. Over the loudspeaker came the announcement: “This is not a drill. This is not a drill.”

  On orders of their officer they raced across Camp Pendleton’s open headland to the waiting helicopters. Within seconds the Marines were onboard and the helos had taken off.

  **

  1159 hours

  Jaiswal studied the tanker through binoculars as the Coast Guard cutter approached the tanker. He thought for a moment, then turned to Thurman. “She’s way out of the shipping lanes and headed for San Onofre. That’s enough for me.”

  The deafening sound of helos approaching could be heard. Jaiswal nodded at the helos, then spoke to Thurman. “Call them in. Prepare to board her.”

  **

  1201 hours

  Mollie held on to the cigarette boat’s side as Surfer smashed the boat through the water. They were closing in on the Phicol!

  Suddenly there the boat was, a nautical mile away. Mollie scanned the scene with binoculars.

  “My God, that thing is making 35 knots! How the hell did they get that tub moving so fast?”

  The next moment Mollie let out a yell.

  “They’re abandoning ship! Lifeboats. Wait! Bridge is still manned. Armed men guarding the bridge. They don’t have enough men to cover the entire ship.”

  Above the roar of the engine Surfer answered: “They’ve got enough for us. Call for backup.”

  Mollie grabbed the radiophone as Surfer steered the cigarette boat in a path to intercept the Phicol. That ship now was bearing straight towards the port.

  **

  1203 hours

  The Coast Guard cutter came alongside the tanker. Far above the cutter, on the deck of the giant ship, armed men stood at the bow.

  Jaiswal held the loud-hailer to his mouth.

  “Halt! U.S. Coast Guard! Heave to and prepare to be boarded!”

  Jaiswal spotted the captain of the tanker raising his fist. It was clear to Jaiswal that the captain had no intention of being boarded.

  At this moment two Marine helos hovered over the tanker. Heavily armed Marines rappelled down ropes from the helicopters.

  Jaiswal watched the captain of the tanker hesitate, consider his options – surrender, or shoot at the Marines behind him and the Coast Guard below.

  The captain held up his arms in surrender, his men following his example. Good, he’s not a shaheed, a martyr, Jaiswal thought.

  Jaiswal gave the order to his team and they boarded the tanker, racing up the ladder to find the Marines in control of the situation.

  The Coasties handcuffed the crew while Jaiswal talked on his radio. At his instructions a Marine helo circling the tanker peeled off and away.

  **

  1207 hours

  Kevin raced the cigarette boat toward the containership. The leviathan dwarfed them, didn’t even notice they were there, just kept plowing on.

  “We’ll have to board her,” Gearhead said. “No other way to stop her.”

  Kevin turned back to Gearhead, grinning like a fool. “I’ve waited my whole life to say this! Avast ye lubbers! Away boarders!”

  Kevin caught the look of amusement on Gearhead’s face as he whipped the boat alongside the containership, right up to the boarding ladder.

  Gearhead climbed out on the foredeck of the cigarette boat. When Kevin matched speed with the ship, she tied the boat off to the ladder.

  Kevin cut the engine, grabbed his M-16 and fastened his ammo vest. Then he followed Gearhead as she charged up the steps.

  He came up on deck, his gun ready. The deck was empty.

  He crouched and ran behind Gearhead toward the superstructure along the outermost wall of containers. The ship churned along, seemingly without human intervention.

  Seconds later they reached the superstructure and halted at the end of the container row, a few yards between them and an open hatch.

  Kevin’s breath was ragged. Damn! Too much time spent in the cockpit of a jet and not enough time on physical training exercises.

  Gearhead signaled Kevin to go first, bringing her M4 to her shoulder.

  Kevin ducked across, Gearhead following. Just as she entered the hatch behind him, a bullet spanged off the metal.

  Kevin and Gearhead took cover behind the bulkhead. They peered out cautiously, searching for the shooting, but saw nothing.

  Gearhead pushed the hatch closed with her foot. A flurry of shots bounced off the hatch.

  As one they turned and advanced up the ladder.

  No sign of anyone. More ladders. No one. They checked compartments – no one.

  They emerged at a compartment exiting onto the main deck. The hatch was slightly open, but no one could be seen through it.

  Gearhead tried her walkie-talkie.

  “McIlheny, this is Gearhead. McIlheny, this is Gearhead. Do you copy.”

  Gearhead moved to a porthole, opened it, shoved the antenna out.

  “McIlheny
, this is Gearhead. Do you copy?”

  Kevin could hear the reply. “Gearhead, McIlheny. What’s your situation?”

  “We’re on board. The ship seems deserted, but there are tangos on board. We need assistance.”

  The answer came back clear: “We’ve detached one Blackhawk of Marines, Gearhead. Should reach you in about one-zero mikes. Lay low until then, over.”

  “In 10 minutes she’ll be too close to the port to stop on her own power,” Gearhead said. “You’ll have to dispatch some tugs.”

  “Roger that, Gearhead. Mac out.”

  Kevin watched Gearhead look around the space. She picked up a soda can nestled among the pipes and tossed it far out of the hatch.

  The soda can was met by a hail of automatic weapons fire.

  “That’s not good,” Kevin said.

  Gearhead ducked across the compartment. No shots followed her.

  “They can’t actually see into the compartment,” Gearhead said. “Just shooting at movement.”

  She jerked the fire extinguisher off the wall. Then she crouched down, crept to the hatchway, slipped the hatch open further, and pushed the fire extinguisher out the door. No shots.

  Next she crept closer to the door and pushed the fire extinguisher all the way across to the next hatchway a few feet away. No shots.

  “They can’t see us unless we’re up off the deck a ways,” Gearhead said.

  Shit! “Unless they just decided not to shoot at a fire extinguisher,” Kevin said.

  “They shot at a soda can. We’ve got to get up to the bridge and slow this big bastard down. Let’s go.”

  She had crawled over the lip of the hatch and slithered to the next hatchway before Kevin could stop her. He shook his head and followed her.

  Just as Kevin’s legs were disappearing into the hatchway, a burst was let off. Rounds spanged off the deck and hatchway.

  As soon as Kevin’s legs were inside, Gearhead yelled “DOWN!” and slammed the hatch shut. She dogged it as Kevin flattened to the deck.

  Kevin rolled to his back, glared at Gearhead, then sat up. She was going to get them both killed.